


A Law Divine

by RileyC



Category: Agent Pendergast series - Child & Preston
Genre: Alternate Universe, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-15
Updated: 2010-06-15
Packaged: 2017-10-10 03:29:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/94982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RileyC/pseuds/RileyC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a case that takes them to Louisiana, Pendergast finds himself badly rattled when D'Agosta gets hurt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Law Divine

“Vincent!” Pendergast dropped down beside D'Agosta, watching the tail end of a Canebrake rattler slither away into the wild brush choking the grounds of the old, burnt out plantation. “Did it bite you?”

Gripping his right arm so hard his knuckles were white, D'Agosta, tight-lipped, nodded. “Oh yeah,” he ground out, shooting him a startled look when Pendergast muttered a soft curse. “That bad, huh?”

Not quite answering, Pendergast urged D'Agosta to rest back against an old brick wall, all that remained of the house. “Take slow breaths,” he said, dragging his police radio off his hip and making a quick call for emergency help. “A medevac helicopter will be here in half an hour,” he told D'Agosta, working swiftly - tugging D'Agosta's class ring off his hand, flicking a pocket knife open to slice through D'Agosta's suit coat and shirt, pushing the fabric back to expose a pair of oozing puncture wounds. “We'll have you safe in New Orleans in no time,” he went on, keeping his voice calm and even, but he could feel his own heart hammering in his chest in concert with D'Agosta's.

One of his brother's favorite pastimes when they were children had been catching the snakes and tormenting him with them. Consequently, Pendergast had made a point of learning all he could about them, and what to do in case of a bite. He could only hope it would prove useful now.

“Vincent, please,” he laid a hand along D'Agosta's face, looking at him, “you must relax. Breathe with me,” he said. “In … out … in … out,” he instructed, calming himself in the process. “Yes, like that, like that…”

He checked his watch, glanced at the dusky sky. “I have to get the first aid kit from the car, Vincent,” he cupped both hands along D'Agosta's face, looking intently into his eyes, “I will be right back. I promise. Stay right here, do not move; keep your arm down. All right?”

D'Agosta licked dry lips, fear in his eyes, but infinite trust as well. “Okay.”

Pendergast nodded, ran a soothing hand back over D'Agosta's head, before springing to his feet and sprinting back down the weed-choked drive to where they had left the car, all the while casting anxious glances skyward, willing the helicopter to appear.

Locating the first aid kit seemed to take forever, and yet logically he knew only a few minutes had ticked by. Logic seemed to be failing him just at the moment, however, and he experienced a surge of distress that nearly staggered him, when he returned and found D'Agosta slumped down against the wall, eyes closed, head lolling to the side. “Vincent?” he whispered, dropping to his knees beside him again, reaching for him.

“Still here,” D'Agosta said, eyes flickering open. Searching Pendergast's, he asked, “I'm not gonna make it, am I?”

“Yes, you are.” He would not allow any other possibility to be entertained for even a moment. “Hush now,” Pendergast told him, opening the kit and doing a rapid inventory of the contents. “This may hurt,” he said, tearing open one antiseptic pad, two more, using them to wipe down the wounds.

“You think?” D'Agosta winced, but kept still, watching as Pendergast cleansed the area. “Never a dull minute with you, huh?”

“Admit it, you love it,” Pendergast parried back, searching in vain through the kit for something to suck out the venom. A bandage and splint would have to do, he decided, unrolling a suitable length of linen, cutting it, and wrapping it around D'Agosta's forearm, about two inches above the bite, scanning their surroundings for something to improvise as a splint.

“Oh yeah, getting snake bit out in the Louisiana boonies makes my day.” D'Agosta grunted as Pendergast tightened the bandage. “Too tight.”

Pendergast nodded, loosened it enough to wriggle a finger underneath. “Better?”

“Peachy.”

Managing a smile in spite of it all, Pendergast told him, “I'm just going to find something to make a splint, Vincent. Don't move.”

“Wasn't planning to,” D'Agosta said, voice hoarse and strained as he rested his against the old, weathered brick, turning his cheek to it.

Feeling helpless, and hating it, Pendergast forced himself to concentrate on what he could do. It would be enough. It had to be. Casting one more worried look at his friend, he crossed the yard rapidly to where he'd spotted an old trellis lying on the ground. Once, no doubt, its whitewashed laths had swarmed with fragrant roses. Now, broken and battered in the dirt, weeds poked up through it and black beetles scurried away from underneath as he picked it up, breaking off two pieces of wood that hadn't yet surrendered to rot.

Hurrying back to D'Agosta, he rested a palm against a fevered forehead, and tried to project vast quantities of confidence he didn't feel as pain-blurred eyes gazed at him. “Not much longer now,” he said as he worked, swiping the pieces of wood with antiseptic before fixing them in place, securing them with his and D'Agosta's neckties, making sure it wasn't too tight.

“How bad is the pain?” he asked, carefully feeling along D'Agosta's arm, checking for swelling, examining his hand, relieved at finding the fingers pink and warm.

“Bad.”

“But not getting worse?”

“Don't know.” He swallowed. “Holding steady, I guess.”

“That's good,” Pendergast said, sitting beside him, slipping an arm around D'Agosta's broad back and drawing him close. “There's very little swelling and your circulation's good.”

“Uh-huh.”

Movements careful, Pendergast settled D'Agosta's head on his shoulder, stroking sweat-sticky dark hair. “I think I hear the helicopter.”

“Okay.”

_Don't die,_ he thought, almost positive he could hear the helicopter…

~*~

Standing on the shady, upstairs balcony of his New Orleans townhouse, Pendergast curved a hand around one of the graceful, white columns, watching twilight slowly settle over the Garden District. It was a warm, late September evening, but not uncomfortable, a rustle of fallen leaves scattering along the sidewalk by a soft breeze.

It had been a trying couple of days, tracking down Delacroix, the killer he and D'Agosta had pursued down here, when Pendergast's thoughts were very much elsewhere all the while. With the case concluded - quite satisfactorily to Pendergast, even if other opinions on that might vary - he had wasted no time getting back here.

He stepped back inside, leaving the door open as he crossed to the bed, sitting down carefully and resting the back of his hand against D'Agosta forehead. Soft brown eyes flickered open at the touch, gazing up at him sleepily.

“What time is it?”

“Not quite seven. Your fever's broken.”

“Yeah.” Waking up more, D'Agosta pushed himself up in bed, letting Pendergast adjust the pillows at his back. “That Dr. Fido--“

“Phideaux.”

“Yeah.” D'Agosta smiled. “He was by earlier to look me over. Gave me a clean bill of health. Didn't Proctor tell you?”

“Proctor said Dr. Phideaux gave instructions you were to continue taking it easy for a couple of days.”

D'Agosta waved that away. “That's just doc talk. I'm good to go,” he said, making a move to get out of bed.

Placing a hand against his chest, Pendergast gently, but firmly, pushed him back. “Humor me, please, Vincent, and follow the doctor's orders.”

Studying his face, D'Agosta nodded after a moment and settled back against the pillows. “I'm okay, Aloysius.”

“I know you are, and I want to keep you that way.” Clasping D'Agosta's hand, Pendergast said, “In case it has escaped your notice, my dear Vincent, you very nearly died. Indulge me a bit.”

The medevac flight to the hospital had been in time, but complications had arisen when D'Agosta had a bad reaction to the antivenom, going into anaphylactic shock. That had been the worst part for Pendergast; truly helpless to do anything but stand and watch as the doctors labored over D'Agosta, stabilizing him, saving him. Being so powerless was a feeling that had always shaken him, driving him to work all the more diligently to make himself impervious to such reactions - with, it seemed, fairly dubious success.

“You'd think me _not_ being dead would be the really significant part.”

Pendergast smiled, patted D'Agosta's hand. “It is. You could be of greater assistance, however, in not having any further unexpected spells.”

“Yeah,” D'Agosta grumbled, rolling a shoulder as though it pained him, “whoever even heard of serum sickness.”

“A rare but hardly obscure condition.” Although, in truth, Pendergast hadn't quite known what to think when D'Agosta began to relapse, just days after leaving the hospital, growing feverish, with body aches, itching, and swollen lymph nodes. Dr. Phideaux's diagnosis of serum sickness, with an assurance that, while undoubtedly uncomfortable, it was not a life-threatening condition, had been exceedingly welcome. “Are your joints still hurting?”

“A little. Being stuck in bed's not helping.”

“Hmm.” Pendergast leaned in closer, feeling along D'Agosta's throat, pleased to discover no swelling. “Proctor also informed me you spent most of the day out of bed, until Dr. Phideaux ordered you back.”

“Never thought of Proctor as a rat.”

Pendergast smiled, examining D'Agosta's right forearm now, satisfied at how well the bite was healing. “On the contrary, I believe he is quite fond of you and naturally concerned for your welfare.”

Resting back against the pillows, watching his face, D'Agosta asked, softly, “Just Proctor?”

Pendergast met his gaze. “No,” he answered quietly, “not just Proctor.”

Looking embarrassed, face burning with it, D'Agosta said, “Sorry. I didn't mean…”

“What?” Pendergast prodded when it appeared the thought would go unfinished.

D'Agosta shrugged, shook his head. “Nothing. I know you're not comfortable with emotional stuff.”

Considering that seriously, Pendergast said, “As a rule, no. But, my dear Vincent,” he cupped D'Agosta's chin, tilting his head slightly, “as has been previously noted, you are the exception to many of my rules,” he said, leaning in close once more to brush a light as air kiss against D'Agosta's forehead.

Staring at him, looking a bit stunned, D'Agosta said, “Did you just kiss me?”

Thoughtful, Pendergast told him, “I believe I did.”

“Oh.”

Head cocked slightly, considering him, Pendergast asked, “Do you mind?”

Brows drawn together as if giving the matter considerable weighty deliberation, D'Agosta said, “I don't know.”

His own eyebrows raised, Pendergast said, “You don't know?”

“Well, you'd probably need to do it a couple more times for me to tell.”

Regarding him meditatively, Pendergast nodded after a moment, a faint smile quirking his lips. “I see. Well then, how about this?” he said, pressing another light kiss to D'Agosta's temple.

“Yeah, still not sure.”

“Now?” Pendergast whispered around a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“No, doesn't seem to bother me.”

“Excellent,” Pendergast murmured, one hand pressed into the pillows while the other cradled D'Agosta's face, D'Agosta's arms going around him as Pendergast kissed his mouth.

When they parted, Pendergast sitting back up and smoothing a hand back through his hair, quite certain succumbing to this unchecked impulse was just about to cost him dearly, Vincent D'Agosta surprised him yet again by reaching for his hand. “In case you hadn't noticed, Aloysius, I'm not freaking out.”

“You should be.”

“Why? Because we're both guys?”

Pendergast's slim shoulders lifted minutely. “That would suffice in most instances.”

“Yeah, well, guess you're the exception to some of my rules, too.”

“You're sure?”

Watching him a pensive look, D'Agosta said, “I don't know where it came from, or when it happened, but, yeah,” he reached for Pendergast, drew him down beside him, “I'm sure.”

Their heads barely inches apart on the pillow, Pendergast studied D'Agosta's features, experiencing another surprising surge of emotion - and desire - at the warmth and honesty … and affection he found there.

_“Nothing in the world is single,  
All things by a law divine  
In one another's being mingle--  
Why not I with thine?”_

D'Agosta stared at him. “What?”

Pendergast smiled, said, “Never mind,” and kissed his mouth again.

~*~

“You never told me, what happened with Delacroix?”

It was later, only shafts of moonlight spilling across the bed now, illuminating the twisted sheets and their bodies, damp and flushed with the heat of recent, most gratifying exertions.

Stirring in D'Agosta's arms, Pendergast said, “We caught up with him.”

“And?”

Pendergast sighed. “Is this really what you consider appropriate pillow talk, Vincent?”

“Why do you think I'm divorced?”

Shaking his head, but supposing it futile to deny him, he nonetheless chose his words carefully. “Let us just say that we recovered an arm.”

Puzzling that over, D'Agosta said, “From what?”

“An alligator.”

Turning that over, understanding - and some dismay - dawning, D'Agosta said, “Yeah, I take your point. There probably is something better to talk about.”

Rolling so that D'Agosta was on top of him, Pendergast said, “Of course, talking at all might be dispensed with, if you'd like.”

“Mmmm,” growling a bit, deep in his throat, D'Agosta said, “sounds good to me,” as he went in for a long, deep kiss.

_~end~_

=======  
The poem Pendergast quotes from is:

The fountains mingle with the river,  
And the rivers with the ocean.  
The winds of heaven mix for ever  
With a sweet emotion;  
Nothing in the world is single,  
All things by a law divine  
In one another's being mingle--  
Why not I with thine?

See, the mountains kiss high heaven,  
And the waves clasp one another;  
No sister flower would be forgiven  
If it disdained its brother:  
And the sunlight clasps the earth,  
And the moonbeams kiss the sea--  
What are all these kisses worth  
If thou kiss not me?

\--Percy Bysshe Shelley


End file.
